


then remember a fall night with the moon as big as your mind

by johniaurens



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: M/M, Reincarnation, Stream of Consciousness, i cannot stress enough how pretentious this will seem, semi prose semi me being obnoxious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-18 16:40:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16122569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johniaurens/pseuds/johniaurens
Summary: Flashes of red in the horizon, woodsmoke, horses running free and wild, their nostrils flaring in the cold air as their lungs start to bleed, the sound of dogs yelping or guns firing, or John gasping for breath with a bullet in his chest. Simple things. Distant things. Beautiful, frightening things. Alwaysyes, yes I remember.





	then remember a fall night with the moon as big as your mind

**Author's Note:**

> i swear i'm not sad i'm just lucky to be here  
> how can you tell me that these beautiful things  
> are holding me back before i even begin  
> to pull me out of my, pull me out of my body  
> and into the black  
> the one feeling you wanted, you want it  
> is the one thing you're holding back  
> pull me out of it, pull me out of it
> 
>  
> 
> (title + lyrics from [becky i keep singing this song](https://open.spotify.com/track/5k4smobaWHIVkL6ySmX9RZ?si=IkjPJQ9gS3mNqLYklvzjtA) by hey rosetta [spotify link])

A night with the moon waning in the horizon, leaves falling in downtempo, John drumming the bassline to their cadence with his fingers against his thigh. Alex with his vape pen — better than cigarettes — wearing his sweater, the artificial scent of peach in the air, John taking sips from his iced tea, playing a game called:

“Do you remember —” 

Things like: 

Flashes of red in the horizon, woodsmoke, horses running free and wild, their nostrils flaring in the cold air as their lungs start to bleed, the sound of dogs yelping or guns firing, or John gasping for breath with a bullet in his chest. Simple things. Distant things. Beautiful, frightening things. Always _yes, yes I remember._

Coming into each other’s arms, long nights spent under the same moon, an arm's length on a map apart, where the scale doesn’t matter when the very idea of being farther than a few inches apart seems like torture. The water dark, the night dark, their eyes dark, holding each other’s breath in their hands, hip to hip. Hearts beating in downtempo, the cold of the night. 

Eyes closed, hands touching, these memories of bricks against Alex’s back, memories of John pressing him up to a brick wall, holding him by his collar, kissing him hard with blood gathering in his mouth from his split lip, swallowing it as it fills his mouth, his head against the brick wall. Or these memories of wind against his face, John’s fingers, shadows on Alex’s face, the contours of the edges of it, accentuated in the bright afternoon sun, wispy undergrowth next to his head where he lies on the ground, turning his head to the side, fingers linked, the sun heavy over the horizon like a threat or a promise. What’s the difference, really? What’s the difference between threat and promise?

A song longer than a lifetime. Cannot be cut with a knife or a sword, tempo like fingertips against a steering wheel in afternoon traffic to a gently swelling song, a sound that starts in your bones and resonates through your ribcage and out of your mouth, something bigger than your body, something raw and terrible and beautiful, something terrifying, like a monster crawling out of a lake and into your house, nothing keeping it out, making itself at home, there, in your bed, patting the space between itself and the wall, saying “it’s time for you to face what you’ve been running away from, now.” 

Bringing them back to that night under the fall moon, falling moon, full moon, with the leaves and the artificial peaches, finding each other’s bodies under the streetlights, the comfort inherent in trust, unwavering confidence in the symbolism of the beat of a heart, the jugular, exposed wrists, the first half of a comma like an ode to the concept of continuity, what it feels like to hold each other, to touch each other, love, love, love, a mouth filling with blood, a mouth full of words, teeth knocking together to keep them in, swallowing blood, swallowing words, choking back tears or viscera. 

Take me out of my body. Take me out of my body. Take me out of my body. A traffic light prayer to any small god living under the backseat of this car, this vessel, this body made of carbon and chrome, gunpowder and silver bullets, pull me out of my body, the dark of the night, the darkness of a soul, blending into the background, the misery of existence, the stifling sun, and then Alex. His eyes. Two hands, one on John’s thigh, the other leaning onto the door. The night is warm, the leaves green, the grass green, the night black and blue like a fresh bruise. Like fresh blackberries.

“Do you remember?” he asks. 

“Remember what?”

“Love.”

Alex looks him in the eye, just briefly, brown meeting brown, and smiles. Gentle teeth, bared for just one second, canines and his soft tongue. 

“Yeah,” he says, "yeah, I remember," clever tongue and sharp teeth, impossibly warm, and for a second John can feel the swell of emotion, the swell of invisible, inaudible music, muscle memory of fingers against something smooth, something hard, something stuck in his throat.

**Author's Note:**

> im Aware this makes no sense plz im trying to get out of writers block and doing my best :(


End file.
